Banana
by AusilinAzure
Summary: A band member who's not scared of commitment and a Nora who wants to get peeled open like a banana. AU.


Banana, AU.

 **PROMPT by** **FireBreathingBitchQueen1** **:** Can you do one where it's all perfect: they meet fall in love, get married, have kids. Or one about their kids when they're like 14. **Hope I do it justice! :)**

I'm not particularly old, but apparently being single for the amount of time I have is actually intimidating my relatives.

"Nora dear, what happened to that darling Calvin boy? He was absolutely lovely."

I sigh at the memory. "Granny, you know he used to kill people, right? He went to prison when I was in my senior year."

Granny gives me a look from over her glasses. "Well, when is he coming out, then? Your pussy probably needs a dusting at this rate; nobody's been in there for so long."

I'm startled by both Granny's bluntness and my own embarrassment about the truth of her statement. Okay, so maybe I haven't been in a relationship for a long time – and I'm not a huge fan one one-nighters so I keep away from them too – but I'm not _that_ off the scene.

"When was the last time you were even with anyone, dear?"

I wince. "Four years ago."

Maybe I am _that off the scene_.

Granny pats my hand sympathetically. "Don't worry yourself. Pretend you're a virgin. Boys love pretty young virgins, as long as they're pretty and young and virgins. You're pretty but you're getting old. The virgin act will only last so long, kiddo."

My mother laughs. "Mum, the virgin act never works on anyone. Nora's too pretty for it to work for her."

Granny gives her a sharp look. "You saying I'm ugly? The virgin act is how I got your father, I did. He still doesn't know, old muppet."

Grandad shakes his head from behind her, rolling his finger in circles around his ear and mouthing 'crazy'.

…

Being single for four years, at any age, has you wondering what's wrong with you.

I'm twenty two. Calvin, my ex, went to prison for killing a bunch of girls when I was in my senior year. It was weird to get over him; I'd been in love with him for all of my childhood years, and we only dated for a couple of months but there was a confusion about getting over someone who you thought was a good guy but was actually a homicidal maniac. That too, and Vee, my best friend, is his sister, so we were both mourning him. When I missed him it was hard to decipher Calvin the loving (manipulative, which I later realised) boyfriend from the Calvin which the media showed – a young man driven by hatred and mysogyny to commit crime after crime. That put me off relationships for a while, especially since I'd been in love with him for so long.

Of course I never had my primary focus on getting a man, but I wouldn't mind the companionship that comes with having a partner. I've been alone for a long time and my therapist says it's time for me to move on from the loss of Calvin; she thinks I'm holding myself back because I still miss him.

So to prove her wrong, I'm going out. I'm going out to have sex and after that I'm never going to talk to the guy again. Screw being a prude, screw dignity, screw knowing the person's name before you start snogging. So long as they screw me.

Vee and I both work in the same publishing firm, but while she works for the marketing side of it I always sit on my arse and read book after book, deciding whether or not the company should go through with publishing them. It's not lively but it's okay to enjoy the mundane sometimes, I figure.

I tell the girls in my office of my plan, skipping out on the embarrassing bit about how I haven't had sex since the murderer, and they're all up for it.

"Ah!" Crissy says. "It'll be so much fun! We should go to The Devil's Handbag – they have some music gig tonight, I know someone who works the doors so I can get us tickets."

We all agree and I tell Vee of my plan – she seems super excited. "Scott was mentioning that gig but I didn't want to go and for him to be focussing more on the music than me. I'm glad you guys are going, though!"

Vee and I get ready together at my house with a plan to meet the girls at the door. It takes us two hours but it's fun; Vee does my make up and I twist my hair back at the front to it doesn't frizz out from all the sweat.

"You know," Vee says to me once we're finished. "I'm really sorry about Calvin. What he did was shitty, and…" she peters off. "I just feel like I should have known, you know? He killed a bunch of girls – my own _brother_ – " her mouth twists. "And he hurt you so bad. I'm glad you're getting over him."

Vee and I share the feeling of betrayal towards Calvin because he did just that – he betrayed us both. We may have loved him in different ways, but…

I shake my head. "I'm sorry too."

…

"It's so loud!" Crissy shouts, drunk off her face. She's dancing but her arms are at an odd angle: it looks like she's trying to climb up the rungs of a ladder. Hope wraps an arm over her waist and continues jumping up and down, black curls bouncing with her.

I'm drunk.

It's all fun.

The music was good but it gets better the more we drink, so we drink _a lot_ more. It's crowded and not the best night for clubbing in itself – you can't smell anything but sweat – but it's fun and I'm _so drunk_. Scott is grinding up against Vee after she almost cried that he wasn't paying enough attention to her and Mary has her arms slung over some stranger's shoulders.

"Oh!" Crissy says. "Anton is asking if we want to meet the band!"

Anton is Crissy's 'guy at the door', but I think they're shagging. Crissy plunges Hope and I through the crowd and to a back door near the toilets which warns of your demise if you enter without being a worker. I stumble after her and giggle at the force she's using – too much, but she's drunk and doesn't notice it and I'm too drunk to tell whether it hurts or not. Hope almost twists her ankle in her heels but she rights herself by slinding a loose are over my neck and kissing me on the lips.

I can't help but laugh. It's funny. Neither of us are lesbians. What's so lesbian about two close friends kissing, anyway? It wasn't more than a peck.

It's also the most amount of action I've had in months.

The idea makes me laugh even harder, to the point that Crissy has to elbow me in the ribs before knocking on the door. Anton opens it up for us from the inside, considering it needed a passcode, and ushers us in.

It's cooler in here than it was in the club – it's the first thing I notice. It's a lot quieter too, once the doors close.

There are four guys sitting around on tables and the desk, sipping from plastic cups which I assume are full of water. They look alarmingly sober and I have to remind myself why the hell I'm here rather than getting even drunker. They look towards us – Anton has gone off somewhere with Crissy, I assume to another back office – and one of them grins when he looks at Hope.

Of course. She's more scantily dressed; I can't even focus on that as someone takes her from my shoulder and leads me to sit down.

"You're drunk as a skunk," one says with a chortle. "You come back here to see the band?"

"Sure," I say, accepting the bottle of water handed to me. I take a couple of gulps and messily run my fingers through my hair. I can already feel the knots.

"Well, I'm Rixon," says the dark-haired fellow. "That's Baruch," he motions to the guy chatting up Hope, "That's Mitchell," he points to a blonde guy, "And that's Patch," he points to the person Mitchell is talking to who is alarmingly stony-faced. I nod, having forgotten all of their names other than Pretty Patch – Potential Lover Patch? _My Precious Patch_ – cue Gollom voice.

I smile at him when he looks over and turn back to Rixon. "What's your band called?"

He takes me through everything about them – they've been playing since university, when they formed – they're all twenty four now, and this is one of their smaller gigs. "We wanted something closer to home," he says. "An excuse to come back." Then he starts whittling off other facts – the band name (The Fallen), the instruments they all play, and last off…"Are you flirting with me, Nora?"

It occurs to me that maybe I am. "Maybe I am." I send him a sly smile.

He gives me a small grin, leaning forward – probably to sneakily look down my top – when the blonde guy calls him away.

He leaves with a sigh, making me promise to wait for him – I promise no such thing – and then Proper Fit Patch approaches.

"You know," he says darkly. "I was watching you dance."

"I was watching you play."

He gives me a look that I'm sure conceals a smile – _I'm figuring my future husband_ _out_ , clearly. He leans against the table I'm sitting on cooly, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "They say angels fell because of lust." He looks at my exposed thighs. "I never understood that till now."

 _Okayyyy_ – he clearly thinks I'm future bae material.

I hum, looking up at him through my lashes. "What are you gonna do about that?"

Even though the office is cooler than the club – _fuck_ , the way he looks at me is strong enough to melt my underwear off. If he was to proposition me here and now, I would. I just would.

He places his disposable water glass down behind him on the table. "I have another ten minutes of my break." His eyes have a hidden meaning. "Wanna get out of here?"

…

I do the walk of shame back to Vee's, because no way in hell am I dignified enough to do it into my mother's house without trying to off myself.

"I did it!" I tell her as soon as she opens the door. "I bloody well did it! I got fucked by a hot band member!"

She pulls me in and starts jumping up and down, clapping her hands together. I see Scott drinking something in the background and looking absolutely miserable with his hangover – I look worse with my smudged mascara and heels in one hand. But we're both grinning and skipping around, to the point where amusement drowns out his annoyance.

"Take that, nosy, intrusive, therapist bitch!" Vee cheers with me.

I drop my heels at the entryway and borrow her shower, coming out in a pair of her pyjamas and my hair twisted in a knot above my head.

"Tell me everything!" she squeals.

And I do. I tell her about Crissy taking us to the back office – about Rixon – and then about Patch – I tell her how smooth-talking and hot he was, how he acted super myserious and was _amazing_ at sex – about how if I'd been more sober I would have been embarrassed by my lack of experience but he had enough to fuck me right and get me to fuck him right – she asks if it was wholly consensual, looking a little nervous, but _yes it was_ – and then we move on to how he got me off too many times in ten minutes and how... "I gave him my number. _Damn_." I pull my phone out to see no notifications and sigh. "I can't believe I gave him my number. That's super desperate, right?" I start tugging my hair. " _This sucks_. This sucks so bad."

Vee pats my shoulder. "It's _confident_ , babe. Plus he might call you up." She wiggles her eyebrows but I just groan and press my forearm over my eyes. "Oh, cheer up. You've broken the seal now; that means you're ready for a bunch more sex."

I accept what she says and figure maybe it wasn't _that embarrassing_ to give away my number like that – and he probably won't call me, anyway.

…

He calls me that night when I'm in bed. Or, rather, he texts me.

 _It's patch from last nite. Another gig in TDH in 30mins. u coming?_

I screenshot it to Vee and ask how I should reply.

 _Yeah sure, sounds good. Get tickets for me and a friend xx_

…

Vee and I arrive there after another hour and a half, part way through the gig. I'm not physically up for getting drunk two nights in a row so we stick mostly to coke – cherry coke, in my case – sprinkled with a few alcohols so I don't lose my courage.

We dance, mostly. I can't really see Patch on the stage – it's too dark – and I wonder if I'm coming off as desperate by being here but remind myself he _did_ invite me – and we got free entry – so there's really nothing to lose, right? Vee and I have a great time – my phone's not on silence but after around twelve I realise the band's been replaced by a DJ and check my phone.

 _In the back office again. u coming?_

I knock on the door of the office – Vee remains dancing with Scott, who joined us a little later after having to queue for his entry and actually pay (ugh, what is payment these days? A capitalist ideology that in order for us to be worth something we must have a set amount of digits associated to our name) – and it opens almost immediately. I see the dark-haired guy who's not Patch open the door, looking a little sweaty from his last gig, and he grins at me _but I've forgotten his name so I use phrases which don't need it in the hopes he doesn't notice_.

Patch sees me almost instantly. He sends me a look which has me melting and takes my hand in his, dragging me out the door. We get to the club and he orders me a drink – non-alcoholic when he sees I'm nursing a lukewarm coke – and we drink before dancing.

I'm nervous but it's fun. He's really hot and he smirks when he sees how awkward I am at points, but when I get into the dancing and get more comfortable with him it gets pretty fun. He's not much fan of dancing – I can easily imagine him sitting on the sidelines and not moving – but we start snogging and he cops a feel many a time so I think he starts to enjoy it.

We end up in his truck, once again, fiddling over condoms and not enough space – but there's relief when he fills me and rolls his hips to create the delicious friction which has me gasping. "So good," I tell him, knotting my fingers in his hair – he pushes me further into the leather interior of his truck, hips moving quickly and steadily. He's much quieter than I am when it comes to sex, but in the streetlamps I can see how his face comes undone in front of me – how he bites his lip when I shift my hips to meet his thrusts – his face is tense when he grabs my waist to hold me still and takes complete control, fucking so hard I'm holding back screams and releasing tears.

He rolls off me, pulling off the condom, and I readjust my dress. I pat my hair down a little and he does up his zipper before looking at me.

"You okay?"

I nod and he opens the door. The both of us file out and the cool wind feels good on my bare arms; the car had been sweltering. I take a deep breath and wonder what to say, considering just walking off, when he takes my arm.

"I think we should meet up again," he announces. "There's a coffee place around here called _Enzo's_. Have you heard of it?" I nod and he sends me a half-smirk, leaning closer to my ear. " _Fucked you so hard you're speechless, huh Angel?_ "

I can feel my face become red with embarrassment and I twist my arm out of his grip.

"Woah!" he says. "It was just a joke, doll – love making you blush. It looks so pretty on you." This just darkens my blush as I stand there silently, unsure of what to say. He seems to find my reaction amusing and leans against the door of his car. "I'll text you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Bye." We wave each other off and I go back into the club while he cools down in the spring air.

…

It's my Monday lunchbreak and Enzo's is packed. I grab a table and wait for Patch, who seems to be running late.

 _What if he was joking with me?_

Ugh. I hate how one homicidal boyfriend has put all of these doubts in me. I mean, it was only _once_! And he only killed – what four, five girls? Maybe that's why I'm open to dating a bandmember; fuck what people say about 'steady jobs' or 'good incomes'. As long as he's not an evil maniac I'm up for it.

Wow. A shocking amount of standards displayed by Nora Gray.

I try not to make myself laugh too much because clearly I'm hilarious. By that point I see My Precious (Gollum voice) weaving his way through full tables, donned in full black and a navy baseball cap.

He sends me one of those conealed grins. "Sorry I'm late," he says.

I lick my lips and smile at him. "S'okay."

We spend a good hour in Enzo's; he's not the greatest at conversation but he seems to be a good listener and he buts in whenever he wants to hear more about a topic. We talk a little about work and friends – I don't address how his job constitues of him travelling a lot, because going on _one_ date with a guy doesn't bar your pussy from visiting friends.

It's a good date – relaxed and calm, which may be because we already know each other in a 'sexual' setting, if that makes sense, and when it's over and he suggests we go out on another I'm quick to agree. He drives me back to work and we don't kiss or anything – _excuse me_ , I'm not a slut – but he waits until I'm in the building before driving off.

Quiet and manly – but sweet. And hot. Future bae is what I sniff.

I fill Vee in on everything and she looks proud of me.

…

We don't text until the next day, when he invites me to his place for dinner. I slip into a nice dress and heels – he opens the door wearing a black button-up which looks quick to slip off – and I test it and it is; we have sex on his couch and eat dinner, and then have sex again. It's weird and casual but _nice_. Like there's no dancing around each other – we both know what we want and we go straight for it. I wonder if he's using me for sex but then remind myself that his magic dick is what brought me back to him the second time to see his gig.

We kiss for a bit on his doorstep; he offers to let me stay the night but I decline. His apartment is nice and expensive – I consider that he might come from money – and we part ways.

…

We go out to the cinema and he fingers me in the backseat. It's gross to think about but nice to experience. We end up at my house because it's closer and I have to keep down my moans because Mum's home and _I know_ she'll tell Granny everything once she realises I'm screwing someone. Patch just takes my attempts at staying quiet as a challenge – I'm embarrassed that he won when I scream in ecstacy but he sends me a full grin, looking at my flushed naked body on the bed. "Beautiful," he murmurs, kissing me again – kissing me _everywhere_.

He stays for the night and I force _him_ to do the walk of shame this time – he does it like a pro and in good humour, finding amusement out of my embarrassment. "They heard you last night, Angel," he says with a grin before pecking me on the lips. "They know what we were doing."

I bat him out of the door anyway and he creeps out of it, leaving the house. His truck rumbles when he drives away and _fuck_ he's good at sex. I have to go lay down for a long time and then I take a bath to loosen my muscles. Achy in the best kind of way.

…

We text for a little but don't meet until the next weekend. Having sex this often has made me horny for more. We meet up for lunch in a casual place.

"Nora," he begins. "I'm leaving tonight."

"Oh," I say. "Where will you be going?"

He tells me he's going up north.

"Oh, the weather should be so good there! Have you been seeing the forecasts?"

He tells me he hasn't and I laugh. "All right. Anyway, let's wrap this up and get back to yours." I don't bother with subtelties and he doesn't give a fuck; he throws some twenties on the table after giving me a dark look when I go to pay and _sure_ I'm a feminist but every girl loves to get treated nicely sometimes, right?

We screw at his place _a lot_. He does me so good I black out; he's shaking me awake once he's packed his bags and we take a shower together, kissing and cleaning each other off and having the sweetest goodbye sex known to man.

"Bye," I say to him when I leave. He sighs and stands up when I'm half way out the door.

"Wait," he says. I stop and turn around expectantly – _please, say what I want to hear_ – "I don't want to never see you again. If I send you tickets to my gigs, will you come?" I nod and he smiles properly this time. "Is it okay if we're sleeping with just each other?" he says. "I don't want anyone but you."

I smile. "I'm okay with that."

…

"You're _engaged_? How long have you even known this guy?" Granny leans over the table and whipsers conspiratorially. "Is he the one who stopped your muff from looking like a haunted house?"

"Granny!" I cry shrilly, leaning back and utterly embarrassed. Even Mum looks squeamish at Granny's phrasing, which means a lot because she usually laughs along with the jabs. Grandad plucks the glass of sherry out of her hand and switches it for water and she hardly notices.

Patch makes his way over in dark ripped jeans, a black button-up and a bowtie. He sits beside me and kisses me on the lips – he much prefers real kissing to affectionate ('pussy') kisses on the cheek or something. It took a little to adjust to his perverse nature but it wasn't a gigantic deal. I'm just crossing my fingers under the table and hoping Granny keeps her mouth shut when she opens it.

Thankfully Grandad interrupts her before I shoot myself in the foot to create a distraction. "So, Patch, what is it you do?"

Even though my mother has met Patch in passing, because of his job he hasn't properly met my full family. He's an orphan and apparently he inherited his apartment from his deceased parents who he is too young to remember, so I haven't had anyone to meet from his side. This is the first proper gathering – and unfortunately for him, it's _after_ we're engaged, and it would be kind at this point to say that many people are baying for blood, trying to figure out why this quote-unquote 'punk' asked me to marry him before even meeting the family. I find it hilarious that they're asking to meet him anyway; he's marrying me, not them, and Mum seems to like him.

I squeeze his hand under the table and he squeezes back, answering the questions my family throw at him by opening his mouth as little as possible – Granny manages to make some sex jokes which really loosen him up – and then Patch's part of the family. That's it.

When we get married his band is big and travelling the world. We have a beach wedding, barefoot because I'm terrible with heels, and he smiles for the longest time I've ever seen him smile. His vows are as expected; short but sweet and completely from the heart – I cry a lot and he tenderly wipes away every tear.

When I go to throw the bouquet Vee catches it, and I meet her eye.

Whomp. I think it's her next.

 **A/N: hope you guys enjoyed! My last wittle short got some cute feedback so I figured why not!**


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